


All The Things These Hands Can Hold

by ArchWriter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Pack Family, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Post Season 5, The Sheriff's name is Noah, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchWriter/pseuds/ArchWriter
Summary: Melissa wasn’t perfect, but she tried her hardest. Noah’s life with law enforcement and the supernatural was no cakewalk, but he pushed on, one unsolved ‘animal attack’ at a time. And Chris figured that family was more than just a code and same last names on the register – it’s a choice.It would be easy to dismiss it all – to turn a blind eye, to move out of town. But they don’t. They love these kids too much.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed to get this fic out of my system. Melissa, Noah, and Chris are so underrated as parents, I just - I have a lot of feels about them, okay? There's never enough family-centric fics for any fandom, and this is my contribution to the TW fandom. Honestly, Scott and the pack would be so lost without their parents. This has been challenging to write, and equally satisfying, as I feel that parent-child relationships are one of the show's strong points. An in-depth analysis of each of their relationships was what I felt I needed to do, so here you have this fic.
> 
> This fic is canon compliant up to Season 6A. The Sheriff's name is Noah as per canon, and Stiles name is known.
> 
> So, carry on reading, leave a comment below and tell me what you guys think. :D

Melissa McCall wasn’t perfect, but she tried her hardest.

She didn’t have all the answers to life’s questions, nor the strength to move mountains to save people, but as a nurse and a single mom, she tried.

She tried so damn hard.

When Melissa entered the world of the supernatural, _werewolves_ were the farthest thing she had in mind. Granted, she didn’t know what to think about it really, but it definitely didn’t include her son Scott being one of them. And it’s been a trying ordeal, playing single mom and supernatural secret-keeper, but she had raised Scott on her own, and if she could raise a boy into a man without both of them getting killed in the process, she figures she does well, all things considered.

Noah Stilinski’s life with law enforcement and the supernatural was no cakewalk, but he pushed on, one unsolved ‘animal attack’ at a time.

He had drunk himself down, pushed people away, lost sleep, and tore his mind apart long before being kidnapped as a human sacrifice to power a dark druid, but in the face of the unbelievable, he figured the best course of action was to believe.

His wife Claudia taught him that, and now his son Stiles continually reminded him of that – that there was always something strange out there, something impossible, and yet still so possible.

It hadn’t been easy. And he figures it wouldn’t be any easier.

Chris Argent has lost a lot in his life. His sister, his wife, his father, his daughter – it had been too much for any man to bear, to lose all those he held close and dear to the world he was born into. Allison had been the bright star of his life since everything went to hell fast since Beacon Hills, and when he lost her too, he had to go away.

He came back though.

Because Chris figures that family is more than just a code and same last names on the register – it’s a choice. And it’s a choice he’s going to continue making, even if it means constantly facing the fear of losing more of the things he holds close to.

 

* * *

 

 

 Up the stairs, in the hallway past Scott’s room lays the door to Melissa’s room. It was a simple room – being a nurse in an understaffed hospital meant she was always on the clock for her job, and making ends meet meant she took longer hours than necessary, but it was a sacrifice she was willing to make. Melissa’s room had a simple wardrobe: jeans, shirts, scrubs, and several nice dresses she wore on dates or special occasions. She had a well-made bed, and a nice sturdy bedside table on its right. On the side table was a picture Melissa loved to look at sometimes before she went to bed after a hard day.

It was a picture she took on her phone, one that had a good camera, and she had it printed and framed months after it was taken.

It was a picture of Scott along with everyone they felt close to, taken more than a year ago, just after the incident with the Alpha pack and Darach concluded and the new school term started. The shot had Scott holding a pot of curry he was placing on the table. Beside him were the Sheriff and Stiles, seated and in the middle of a conversation, Noah with his fingers on his temple and Stiles flailing his arms in explanation. Behind him stood Derek, clad in his leather jacket as usual, lips upturned in an almost imperceptible smile at the father and son’s argument before him. Sitting at a seat on Stiles’ other side was Lydia in a smirk, opposite Allison who was pouting at something Lydia said. Chris Argent was standing a distance from his daughter, fond smile and relaxed shoulders. Coming from the kitchen, on the far side of the picture were Isaac and Kira, hands loaded with dishes and utensils.

Everyone in the picture was either in an expression of amusement or exasperation, and for that single moment in the picture, everything was right.

~*~*~*~

It was a dinner that was supposedly only for her, Scott, and Isaac who lived with them at the time, but an hour before dinner, Stiles and his father knocked on her doorstep. Stiles had caught his dad sneaking burger and curly fries takeouts on the way home, and when Stiles caught him with the food not meant for his father’s diet to avoid-dying-at-the-age-of-50-for-a-totally-avoidable-heart-disease, he had taken it upon himself to make the Sheriff drive to the McCalls and drop the takeouts for Scott and Isaac.

Melissa had known Stiles was having a hard time after the incident with the Nemeton, just as much as she knew Scott was, so looking at the Stiles eyebags and slumped shoulders, she took the plastic bags of takeout and dragged Stiles to the dining area, the Sheriff trailing confusedly behind.

She decided it could be a big dinner tonight – a little pack meeting, Stiles quipped and Isaac snorted – and before she could stop herself, she said:

“Want to invite the Argents? Might as well.”

The reactions had been immediate. Scott looked confused while Isaac looked elated. Stiles shrugged, like he couldn’t be bothered, and went on his phone, tapping away. He locked eyes with Noah and an understanding passed through them: the three of them – her, him, and Chris – needed to talk.

So a phone call and fifteen minutes later, Allison and Chris Argent found themselves entering the McCall household, in their hands some French takeout. Allison, much like Scott and Stiles, looked gaunt and haggard, like she wasn’t getting enough sleep, and her usual noticeable straight posture wasn’t as ramrod perfect these days.

Melissa smiled at both of them, nodded at Chris, and they both went in, waving at Isaac and Scott. Melissa heard Allison greet Stiles who was at the kitchen area, who quirked a greeting in return.

Scott had called out to Stiles in their kitchen to bring out some plates and pans to place the food, when he was faced with Derek of all people, already holding the wares. He was clad in gray shirt, his leather jacket over it as usual, and he had popped out of seemingly nowhere that Scott let out a weak yelp.

Everybody froze.

“Derek? What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”

The older man seemed a little uncomfortable and Melissa could almost swear Derek was squirming before Stiles piped up from the salad he was making for his father.

“Uh, the back door? I invited him. He was in my room and was confused he couldn’t find me to do his research for him, so he texted me and I said he could come here instead. Hence, the tall hunk of brooding you are all now seeing before you.”

Derek shot a glare at Stiles while the Sheriff rubbed his temple.

“What was Derek doing in your room?”

Everybody looked at the pair, at Stiles who was currently on his phone again, and didn’t seem bothered, and Derek who was the perfect expression of nonchalance.

“Uh…Research? He climbs in through my window. It’s a regular thing.”

“A regular thing,” the Sheriff’s voice was flat. Stiles looked up from his phone and cocked his head.

“It’s a werewolf thing? I mean, Scott used to climb Allison’s window when they were seeing each other. I don’t know if Isaac does the same.”

“He does.”

Everyone turned to Allison, and this time it was Chris who rubbed his temples. Stiles and Allison shared an amused smile and rolled their eyes.

“Werewolves.”

“Like Scott and Isaac? Does this mean Derek climbs into your window for nightly visits as well?”

Derek opened his mouth to voice his protest when Stiles’ loose tongue answered “Yeah.”

Everyone was silent and it took a quick second for Stiles to start flailing in embarrassment, registering the quotation marks on _nightly visits_.

“Oh my _god_ , no! I mean, yes, Derek visits at night, but also sometimes during the day, but often times when we’re alone-”

Isaac choked on air.

“-and he asks me about research stuff okay? Some of them are stuff Peter asks me to run research on and tall, dark and brooding over here is his gofer.”

“I am not Peter’s gofer,” Derek snapped.

“To be fair, you never lock your window,” Scott interrupts, “you make it so easy.”

“ _Stiles._ ”

Stiles steps away from the kitchen and places the bowl of salad in the middle of the table. “After Derek broke my window’s lock the first few times? I figured I stopped trying.”

Scott chuckled and Allison shook her head. Chris looked at the Sheriff in sympathy.

“Don’t worry, you get used to these things. At least your child isn’t dating a werewolf.”

Melissa saw Isaac raised an amused eyebrow at Stiles. Allison was giggling, and Scott looked a cross between amused and disgusted.

A moment later, the doorbell rang and Isaac went to get it, only to come back with Lydia holding two boxes of takeout and Kira with four boxes of pizza.

“Kira! Lydia! How – why- ?” Scott looked dumbfounded.

“Stiles,” Lydia simply said, waving her phone, as if that answer was sufficient explanation, and primly deposited her box of takeout on the table. Lydia Martin has brought sushi and maki. Kira smiled at Scott and he beamed back, before shooting Stiles a look of gratitude. Stiles held a thumbs-up.

The rattling of a pot boiling alerted Melissa a few beats later, and asked Scott to get it. She tells Isaac to set the table, and Kira volunteered to help, following Isaac to the kitchen.

It was this moment that Melissa remembers that made her stop all of a sudden. There she was, single-mother and overworked nurse, and in the span of more than just an hour, her house feels like a _fiesta_. She remembers grabbing her phone and holding it up, and just as everybody crowds around the small table she snaps a picture.

That night was a success, with Scott ordering more takeout to be delivered, paid by Derek Hale after he was cornered by Stiles and Lydia and was convinced to pay for the extra food. Melissa found it odd that Derek didn’t really look like he minded, and Melissa felt that even if he wasn’t asked to pay for food for the pack, Derek would have volunteered to pay anyway.

At a calmer hour after the kids had moved to the living room to watch a movie, the adults went out the back door and sat by the small deck. Melissa and Chris talked to Noah more about the world they’re living now, and after soft laughter and reassurances, they went back in, treated to sight of Scott and Kira doing the dishes together.

It was their last good night together like this – complete and happy, totally unaware of what would come – that after Melissa found herself scrolling through her phone so many months later, she broke down and sobbed a little as she saw the picture, and thought about that night when everything felt right.

The following day she had the picture printed and framed, and kept it by her bedside table ever since.

Melissa was aware she and Scott weren’t the perfect family. But she knew what family was really, and that picture clearly shows her that.

Melissa figured that with everything that happens in Beacon Hills, Scott and his friends probably never remember the dinner taking place. To them, it was probably one of those regular nights spent fooling around, no regard of making significant memories. It had been spontaneous and unexpected – a gathering of people so different from each other yet so comfortable in each other’s spaces – that Melissa often finds herself asking if that night was just a dream.

That was the thing about teenagers – it’s the big things and the big steps needed to be made that stand out to them. Taking it from Scott’s group of friends, it’s a wonder they even remember school at all – how Lydia and Stiles still take top spots in their academic performances and Scott and Kira meet up for study dates rather than the next supernatural showdown.

Ten or so years down the line, they’d probably reminisce about the times they spent trying to avoid dying, like the time the ghost riders went to town, or the Dread Doctors, or the deadpool, or the _nogitsune_ , or the the Alpha pack and the Darach, or the time Gerard Argent almost had them all killed, or the Kanima attacks, or the first year Scott got bitten – all the big, scary, and strange things.

But for Melissa, it’s always the small things.

Like the way Scott hugs her a little tighter after a tough battle, and breathes a little deeper, and whispers _I love you moms_ that Scott thinks she doesn’t hear.

Like the way Stiles fell asleep in the hospital after going so long without proper sleep, and called her _mom._

Like the way Allison would wave at her when they met somewhere, and she looked at Melissa like a daughter to a mother.

Like the way Isaac always apologizes to her for the minor inconvenience of him staying in her house, and how she’d lightly squeeze his shoulders and say it’s okay, he’s welcome, he’s home.

Like the way Derek is silent yet so polite – always polite – with her, and angles his body to her in a protective stance, like he would shield her from any harm if it came unexpectedly.

Like the way Lydia has Melissa on one of her speed dials, next to Scott, Stiles, the Sheriff, and her own mother.

Like the way Kira’s smile beams a little brighter when she sees Melissa in the kitchen when she comes over, and chats to her about normal-mom things.

Like all the ways she looks at these kids and sees them as her own, how right they feel beside each other, sitting at her dining table over takeouts and cooked food. Like how each of their pain was like her own, and that if she could, she’d wrap them all in a tight embrace every night, tell them _it’s okay it’s okay it’s alright_ as they fall asleep.

~*~*~*~

She loses Allison and Isaac that year.

She knows that for a while Scott was listless with Allison’s death, and without Isaac’s presence in the house, it had been a depressing silence in the house, usually punctuated whenever Stiles or Lydia came by to play video games or asked to study together.

Isaac moved to France with Chris, but when Argent returned, he came back alone.

Scott knew his mom tried to cheer him up in the weeks after the incident with the _nogitsune._ What Melissa didn’t want Scott to know was that sometimes, when the house was quiet and Scott was still at school, she’d sit listlessly in her son’s room, looking at all the pictures of Allison he kept at the bottom of his drawer, and unfolding and refolding all the extra clothes that Isaac left in Scott’s wardrobe.

Months later, Derek moved out of Beacon Hills. Another few months later and Kira goes with the Skinwalkers, her return unsure.

Melissa wonders if this was what parents who lost their child feel – like there was a person-shaped hole in a household that cannot be filled with silence and distraction, and can only be eased with time.

She keeps the group picture and tells herself it’s okay; she still has Scott and Stiles. And Lydia, and now Malia as well.

 

* * *

 

Noah knew he did a banged-up job as a father.

He let his ADHD mix himself in unexplainable things, got roughed and banged up a lot, and he didn’t do much about it. Stiles took care of the house and the food, did grocery shopping, and checked up on him at the station – and he can’t really deny that Stiles took care of him more than he did him.

It was one of his greatest insecurities – that Stiles, who was smart and resourceful and meant for greater things that a small county has to offer, would see how bad he was doing at parenting, and leave him after high school, riding on a scholarship, the alcoholic widower who was too absorbed in his job to see the truth surrounding his son.

Then he got kidnapped and become a sacrifice along with Melissa McCall and Chris Argent.

All of a sudden, everything made sense.

Noah looked at the way Isaac lit up around Stiles and Scott, how the boy who escaped domestic abuse embraced his werewolf identity and human vulnerability. He saw the way Allison carried herself with military discipline, casually punctuated by Lydia’s inputs and Stiles’ jokes. He saw that way Scott became their leader, rising up to the challenges they faced.

When the _nogitsune_ claimed Stiles, Noah thought he was going to lose him.

And oh, how he felt useless and played by the fox spirit, how he was the father and he couldn’t help his own son, only trusting his friends to help him. Perhaps deep inside him, he trusted these kids who ran towards death on a weekly basis enough – too much – to entrust Stiles to them that he failed to realize their own vulnerabilities.

He was an adult. He tried his best to protect these kids. But an adult is not all powerful – there are things you can’t protect your kids from.

He remembers the way Allison broke down in front of him in an elevator, how her sobs racked her shoulders as he listened to her crying. He remembers Scott promising to him they’d save Stiles, but sounding like he was convincing himself more than the Sheriff. He remembers Lydia shadowing Stiles, and how she looks at him like it was the first time she’s finally taking notice.

Stiles lived.

Allison died.

Isaac left.

When Stiles brought Malia back to their house from Eichen, Noah took a shot of whiskey that night. One moment, his son was pining after Lydia Martin and scheduling research times with Derek Hale in his bedroom, and the next thing he realizes his son is bringing a girl home.

A were-coyote.

He was skeptic at first, but Noah loved Malia the way he appreciated Isaac – their presence was grounding for Stiles, the way his son had to grow a little more mature, grow out of his irresponsible habits of off-tangent research and vague awareness of the concept of time, and actually invest himself in another person. Stiles taught Malia everything she needed to know about being human – facing high school and making conversations _and expressing herself_ – and she made Stiles her anchor, and she looked at him as if he strung the universe up for her.

Claudia would’ve loved her, Noah thought.

And before he could stop himself, he entertained the thought of having a daughter in Malia.

The thing about being a Sheriff and knowing about the supernatural was that he can’t just put a supernatural event as the cause of a case. Noah had several headache-inducing discussions (arguments, really) with Stiles, that he felt that if he wasn’t going to die of heart disease, he was going to die of a conniption.

He knew Stiles shared his room with Malia, so it surprised him when he learned Derek actually left Beacon Hills after asking about how he hadn’t seen the guy in Stiles’ room in so long.

~*~*~*~

“Well. Good morning Derek.”

“Good morning, Sheriff.”

Noah was surprised; usually, Derek heard him moving around the house that when he came to check on Stiles in his room in the morning, the leather-clad man is nowhere to be seen. This morning though, that didn’t seem to be the case. Derek was standing in the middle of the room, white shirt clinging to him in a rumpled state, his hair a wild disarray of bedhead.

“I’m sorry. I know it looks strange, seeing me in your son’s room. I’ll go.”

“I heard Stiles whimpering a little while ago. Was he having one of his nightmares?”

Derek stilled unnaturally, like he didn’t expect the Noah – the Sheriff – to be able to hear that. But the thing was, Stiles was his son. He just had more sense for him, a sort of Stiles-sense.

“Yeah. I calmed him down.”

“I see. I heard you werewolves could absorb pain to ease someone else’s. Was that what you did?”

“…Yeah.”

Noah didn’t need werewolf hearing to hear the lie in that response. The bedhead and rumpled shirt were enough indicators – Noah wasn’t Sheriff for being dense.

“Huh.”

Derek sighed, looking pained and embarrassed. “It’s something like that. I just did what I usually did when my younger sister Cora had nightmares when she was young. I stabilized Stiles’ breathing by chanting a mantra and counting and absorbing his pain.”

“Like calming down panic attacks,” Noah quipped.

“Yes.”

Noah looked at Stiles. He was going to be late for school, he knew, but he also knew that Stiles never got restful sleep these days. Every day, Stiles looks a little more tired and empty than the last, and it’s slowly tearing Noah apart that he can’t do anything. Right now, Stiles looked sleeping a little better – not by a huge margin, but less fitful-looking – and he looked at Derek, worried eyes on his son. He’d wake up Stiles later; he’d let him sleep in for a bit.

“Come down and have breakfast with me Derek.”

“I probably should be going Sheriff.”

“Well then, you could take those mugs with you to the kitchen and go out the front door instead of the window.” Derek sighed, bending down to grab the two empty coffee mugs on the floor and following the Sheriff.

Derek placed the empty mugs by the sink as Noah perched by the dining table. He eyed the careful lines of Derek’s back, casually slouching a bit to look at ease, but the tension in his shoulders was obvious.

“My son isn’t getting any better.”

“No. And none of the scripts that Deaton has given has yielded anything yet. All we know is that Scott, Stiles, and Allison is in some sort of state called bardo, but other than that, nothing.”

Noah turned at Derek’s statement. The werewolf’s expression betrayed nothing, but Noah could sense the edges of deep worry underneath the façade. He knows that stony look – it’s the exact same expression on his and Stiles’ face when they’re trying to get a control of their raging thoughts.

“I am going to ask you a question Derek, and I want you to answer me this as honestly as you can. And I am asking you this because I know Scott will answer me in the way that won’t upset me, but I know you won’t. So answer me this…”

Noah took moment to look into Derek’s eyes.

“Is my son dying?”

Derek is silent for a while, gathering his thoughts, Noah thinks. The werewolf sighed, resigned.

“The three of them are. Stiles just has the worst of it,” he answered quietly.

Noah swallowed down a shaky breath. “Can you make it better?”

Derek’s reply was faster this time. “We’re doing our best.”

But the thing is, Noah knows Scott and Allison aren’t making much positive progress. Isaac and Lydia don’t have many resources to pull, and from broken conversations he’d heard, Derek was busy dealing with Cora and Peter. So the “best” that’s done is actually not much, and is mostly done in Stiles’ bedroom.

But Noah saw the glint of stubbornness in Derek’s eyes, the way Stiles and Scott’s do when they’ve set their minds to something. So maybe none of them actually know what they’re doing, but sometimes “doing our best” is just that: never giving up.

Noah nodded to Derek and made his way for the toaster. Derek made a beeline for the door nearby, walking sedately as if any fast movement would disturb the house’s silence.

“Derek.”

The man paused at the handle, and looked at the Sheriff with apprehensive eyes.

“Take care, son.”

It was a small comment, one that Noah casually said to people he cared about – to Stiles, to Scott, his deputies at the station. But he saw the surprise in Derek’s face, like Noah broke his heart and put it back together in one word, and Derek grunted.

He ignored the way Derek took a steadying swallowing breath, and went silently out the door.

“Good day Sheriff.”

~*~*~*~

The Sheriff had never come to terms with how to feel about Derek Hale. He knew he was dangerous, but he also knew he was a friend. He knew he roughhoused with Stiles from time to time – they were both jerks, pissing each other off – but since he got to know Derek a little better after being in the know, he was surprised at the rough gentleness he had with his son and his friends.

He didn’t agree with anyone manhandling his son. But Noah could see that Stiles was just asking for it from Derek sometimes – they were both jerks to each other.

Some nights, before Malia came along, he’d hear the whir of a printer ejecting a new printed document, the shuffle of papers, and the soft conversations his son and the werewolf would have. Maybe it was the shared experience of having lost family; Derek and Stiles fit each other in a way that Stiles and Scott didn’t.

They had a nonverbal understanding of each other, that beyond whispered sarcastic remarks and jabs at each other’s quirks, they were there for each other, one late night at a time. They were similar in some respects, and Noah was half amused and half surprised at his observation.

They both cared about the people around them a lot: his son Stiles who used too many words, and Derek who used too little. And both of them lost their mother at too young an age, forced to grow up in a way the other kids didn’t.

Stiles had Noah to wake him up from the nightmares, but Noah wondered then who did that for Derek, if the guy ever had nightmares at all.

Noah regrets he hadn’t offered Derek the couch to stay at least when he was at their house, and now he’s left, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get around the chance to do so.

~*~*~*~

“Where’s Malia?”

“Huh? Oh, she’s with Lydia, they’re shopping for clothes. Apparently, it’s unacceptable that Malia uses a boy’s wardrobe to dress herself.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Yeah.”

Noah looks around his room, a litter of red strings and thumbtacks, of strewn out lacrosse equipment and clothes. He picks up Stiles’ jersey from the floor, and drapes it on an extra chair, where a gray Henley is. He picks it up and notices it’s in a size too big for Stiles, and he doesn’t remember his son ever wearing a Henley. He knows someone who does though.

“So. Henleys.”

“And pants and extra shirts too. I guess, I was thinking of making more space for Malia’s clothes by putting away a few of Derek’s clothes away in a separate box, but it’s not like there’s much space to free up anyway.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “You have Derek’s clothes in your wardrobe.”

Stiles laughed. “Yeah. And Scott’s too. I used to have Isaac’s clothes here before he officially moved in with the McCalls. Isaac’s clothes are at their place now. I guess it became a habit, having their extra clothes around. When there were times we couldn’t go to the hospital, Deaton’s clinic was the place to be, and when they needed clothes, we had them prepared. Scott got Isaac’s, I got Derek’s.”

“I see.”

There was a beat.

“You don’t have to worry about having two supernatural creatures under your roof, Dad. Derek’s not around anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Last we saw him was in Mexico. He left with Braeden, looking for the Desert Wolf.”

“Well, is he coming back?”

“I’m moving his clothes later.”

But Stiles didn’t throw them out, just moved them to a box and stuffed it under his bed, away from view but close enough to reach for, in case a blue-eyed werewolf stumbled though his window in the future.

For some reason, Noah doesn’t dismiss that from actually happening.

~*~*~*~

Somehow, Noah accepted there were four people living in the house: him, Stiles, Malia, and Derek. It’s a strange arrangement, but one he does not totally mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Chris left Beacon Hills to grieve his losses. In the span of a year, he has lost his family. Taking off to France after arranging Allison’s funeral had been the plan.

Isaac wasn’t in that plan.

“Take me with you.”

“To the hunters?”

Isaac shook his head. “Just. With you.”

“Isaac, you belong here in Beacon Hills. Scott is your Alpha. You should stay.”

“Chris,” Isaac started, and it caught Chris off-guard, how the boy used his name rather than ‘Mr. Argent’, “I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t stay here, not right now. You’re right, Scott’s my Alpha, no distance will change that, but I don’t want to be in Beacon Hills. Not right now. Not after everything.”

“Isaac, I’m going back to France to tie some loose ends with the Argent name. Allison was my last surviving immediate relative. You’re going to be a single werewolf in a community of hunters.”

“Then make me a hunter. Tell them I’m one of your protégés or something. It wouldn’t be the first time we pulled something like this now, wouldn’t it? And they follow the code,” Isaac smirks that boyish smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his ears, the smirk falling a little flat.

“Isaac – ”

“I loved her too, you know.”

And Chris stops, because before him is a guy who loved his daughter. This boy, who had grown up with an abusive father, been put in danger as a werewolf, found love with his daughter, but never got the chance to love her more. He wasn’t like Scott, who had Allison’s heart despite their separation; Isaac would always be the boy did not have enough for himself.

A father who didn’t love him, a pack that didn’t hold long, a friend he couldn’t continue being a burden to, and a girl he lost too soon.

“Come with me. Let’s arrange you your passport and visa.”

But this, Chris could give him this. He could give him distance and company, and he’d give him enough. Somehow, Chris could see what Allison saw in Isaac – he was loyal and strong, and didn’t let fear stop him from doing what needed to be done.

Weeks later, they flew to France.

The hunters were wary of the presence of a werewolf amongst them, but the Argent name followed a code. After a lot of awkward interactions, Isaac fit in, and for the first time in a long while, Chris could see Isaac being happy.

Weeks later, Chris came back to Beacon Hills alone.

~*~*~*~

He should have been done with the supernatural. He should have stayed away. But he couldn’t, not when he knew he could help.

Chris liked Scott. He was level-headed, strong, and had a good moral compass. He protected his own and everyone else, and hunted those who hunted them. Scott was content with his pack: a _kitsune_ , a were-coyote, a banshee, and his first beta werewolf. And Stiles. Unlike Derek and Peter, Scott didn’t go around biting random people to expand his pack. In fact, he knew that Scott roping in Liam was an accident after an encounter with a wendigo, and it was a dire situation. He understood that. Scott knew his boundaries – comes with being the Alpha – and Chris liked the way he handled his pack: brimmed with trust and security.

Sometimes, he’d accompany Scott on a full moon when he wasn’t with Kira or Liam, his new beta. They’d trek the Preserve, a mock chase between them – the hunter and the wolf. He’d shoot a few nonlethal arrows at Scott to spice it up a bit, and Scott would jump and dodge it, easily avoiding the lazy shots Chris sends him.

“We’re glad we have you.”

“As am I Scott. I imagine without you, things would be a little more awry in Beacon Hills.”

Scott laughed softly, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. Chris knew the deep red that colored Scott’s eyes were unlike the red of any Alpha – Scott’s red eyes shone with the uncanny brilliance of a True Alpha’s eyes, something even Deucalion acknowledged.

“I mean, you really didn’t have to come back. I’d understand if being around Beacon Hills is too much. You lost so much here. It’s…really kind of you to help us when you had every reason to stay away.”

And how Chris wanted to stay away. He never wanted to step foot in Beacon Hills ever again in those first few weeks in France, distracting himself with Isaac and hunter business. But a message from Scott and he couldn’t find it in himself to ignore it, and before he could convince himself to change his mind, he was on a plane back to America, to the place he’d rather not be in.

But he knew it was the right thing to do. It was what _she_ would have wanted. It was their new code after all: _we protect our own_.

“We protect our own, Scott,” Chris replied, “besides, I doubt I could ever really stay away, not when this is all I know.”

Scott nodded in agreement and understanding, and it struck Chris how incredible it is that someone as young as Scott McCall could understand that kind of disposition, not when the kid was just dragged into the whole supernatural scene by chance.

Scott was just barely eighteen, but walked in way that was older past his years.

“You sound a bit like the Sheriff,” Scott comments after a brief silence.

“How so?”

“You know, with the protecting and stuff. Me and Stiles grew up with that, about protecting and defending. I guess that’s the reason why we clashed so much with Derek and Peter, who were always going for offensive.”

“The best offense is the best defense.”

“Not always.”

Chris hummed in agreement.

“The Sheriff has always been kind of a father-figure to me, most probably because of Stiles. But the Sheriff was _Stiles’ dad_ , you know? It always felt like that, that those two had a stronger bond than most parents had with their kids. I couldn’t get in between that. And I know I love my mom to the moon and back, but well, Stiles and the Sheriff were different.”

The father-and-son reminded Chris of himself and Allison a bit, the level of full disclosure when the situation demanded it between the two was impeccable. Perhaps it was the parallel; he and Allison were both hunters, while the Sheriff and Stiles were both tacticians. Chris realized Scott didn’t have that same parallel– he loved his mother very much, but a nurse and a True Alpha didn’t really have much common ground.

Chris was knocked out of his thoughts as he heard Scott chuckle.

“What is it?”

Scott rubbed the back of his neck and looked a bit sheepish. “Nothing, it was just a random thought. It’s stupid.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “More stupid than running in the woods on a full moon past midnight?”

The young Alpha laughed softly, like he was afraid to voice his thoughts. “It’s just, I grew up without much of a father-authority since my dad was a jerk who left us, and I realize that the father role could easily be played by the Sheriff, but I guess…”

Scott trailed off, lost in thought. Chris was patient though; he could wait.

“I guess you fill in that role for me.”

Chris was struck speechless with surprise, not having expected that. “To you, I’m…?”

“Yeah,” Scott chuckled, “even before Allison, you know, I kind of wanted someone to look at me the way you did to her. You were so proud of her, of what she could do. Of what she was. And well, I don’t know what your general opinion of me is, but, it can’t be that bad if you’re here with me, right? So I guess, if I was going to have a father figure in my life, I figured I wanted someone like you.”

And for the first time, Chris looked at Scott. Maybe, just a little, he could really see what Allison saw in him. He was more than just a level-headed teenager with a good moral compass; he was a boy who genuinely cared for the people around him. He was a boy who was strong not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, and he may not be as smart as Stiles or as cunning as Lydia, but Scott had heart, and it was in the right place.

It surprised him, that after all the things that have gone between them all these years, from arrows to the chest to wolfsbane bullets, Scott trusted him, wholeheartedly.

 _“Scott’s a good guy dad.”_ Allison once told him.

And maybe that was enough, to fill in just a little bit of the hole Allison left in heart when she passed. The thing about being a parent is that you never stop being one, even after you lose your kid.

“If I had a son,” Chris began slowly, “I think I would have wanted him to be like you.”

Scott smiled at him so widely, like Chris had handed him a gold medal, that he found himself smiling as well, and shaking his head.

“I’d probably want him to be as smart as Stiles or Lydia though. You’re lacking a bit in that area.”

“Hey!”

~*~*~*~

Chris looked at Stiles and saw himself reflected in him. Smart, a little (whole lot) reckless, and fiercely loyal, Chris knew Stiles would’ve made a good hunter. Even threatened by his father Gerard had not broken Stiles to betray Scott, and that’s when he knew Stiles was a keeper. He and Scott were a good team, and before he realized it, he looked at the two like they were his sons.

Lydia, on the other hand, surprised him.

Chris had always thought Lydia to be the spare amongst their ragtag group. She was the most normal of them all: took Allison shopping and studied together, threw parties and went out on dates. She was the picture of a regular high school girl, and he let Allison keep her as a friend, as an anchor to life of normalcy, away from the hunter’s life. But then Lydia kept finding dead bodies, and then they discovered what she was – a banshee.

Lydia had been the picture of airiness and a pretty face. But she was more than that. Lydia was smart and cunning, strong and independent, and was to a degree similar to Stiles in the aspect of loyalty.

She stayed involved with the pack, not because she was a supernatural being, but because it was her choice to stay with her friends, and she grew and learned new things, surprising everyone with every new skill she gained.

It was why Chris liked her, why he pushed her to be better and stronger when he had the chance. He urged her, motivated her, and pushed his beliefs on her. Predictably, Lydia saw through him.

“I’m not Allison.”

But that, Chris thought, was the entire point. Lydia was her own person; Chris just saw his daughter reflected in her, the same fierce look and strong conviction that cemented her stand as more than just a pretty face. She knew her abilities, and she knew how to fight.

She was just so much like Allison in all the ways that counted, that before he was aware of it, he looked at Lydia like a daughter.

~*~*~*~

Some nights Chris liked to hold one of the unused silver arrowheads Allison made for her training completion. He’d hold up the arrowhead and think, though she was gone, how she left him people he could just as easily care and love, like Allison knew her father had a lot more love to give than she could hold, and she wanted him to share that love with people she loved as well.

Chris figured Allison succeeded – now he had four kids he wanted to protect, just as much as he wanted to protect her.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a Sunday when it happened.

Melissa had a rare day off, and was preparing a huge breakfast for Scott’s pack. The pack was on their run through the woods this morning, riding on the high that the full moon gave them the previous night. Chris was working the coffee machine and Noah was at the dining table, dressed down in a white shirt, his Sheriff’s uniform draped on the back of the chair he was sitting on, just off his shift. Chris poured down two mugs of coffee for himself and Noah, who was busy answering a crossword puzzle in the day’s paper.

“Oh, thanks,” Noah takes the mug and takes a small sip, “this is pretty good.”

“One thing I learned in France is that coffee is never just coffee,” Chris said, “it’s an experience.”

“That sounds like something Lydia would say,” Melissa quipped, bringing a huge plate of pancakes to the dining table.

Moments later, the front door opens and the pack came barreling in, all sweat and smiles in their loose clothing. Scott led the group, followed by Malia and Isaac, who was down in Beacon Hills for a visit. Behind them were the younger members of the pack: Liam, Mason, Hayden, Corey, and Theo. Mason looked winded, but was otherwise fine.

“A healthy reminder that not all of us here are supernatural beings,” Mason panted.

“You could’ve just stayed put here, you know,” Liam quipped.

“And leave me behind?”

“Stiles usually observes at a distance,” Noah said, “he ran with the pack a bit when he could, but generally he just watched and made observations.”

“He and Lydia were the plans people,” Malia nodded, grabbing a bottle of water that Melissa was handing out, “you don’t have to literally run with us to be pack, Mason. You _are_ pack.”

“Malia’s right. There are lots of things you could do as a non-supernatural being. You’re smart Mason. You have a lot of ways to help,” Scott nodded at Mason, all encouragement and smiles.

“Unless you get possessed by an evil fox spirit, then that’s no help,” Isaac drawls.

“Been there, done that,” Mason sighs, “was that an initiation rite? The human members of the pack have to be possessed by some evil sentient spirit?”

“At least the _La Bête_ was a little less troublesome, despite the dead bodies,” Chris muttered.

Liam, Braeden, Mason, Corey, and Theo whipped their heads at Argent. “ _Less troublesome?_ How bad was Stiles when he was possessed?” Liam asked. Melissa knew none of the older pack members liked to talk about the _nogitsune_ incident. To be fair, none of them did.

“None of you died and are severely emotionally traumatized,” Noah answered, giving as few details as possible.

“Oh.”

The younger pack members _did_ know of Allison Argent – Scott had told them about her at one point – after being asked about Scott’s friendship with a hunter of a well-known name.

“So,” Scott continued, changing the topic, “breakfast?”

“I made you all toast, hotdogs, and pancakes. There’s coffee on the counter of you want some,” Melissa smiled. Scott beamed at her and went over to kiss her on the cheek.

“Thanks mom.”

Chris felt Scott gently squeeze his shoulder in a comforting gesture, and Chris patted Scott’s hand, expressing that he was okay.

As the pack each got plates and ate their breakfast, Scott, Malia, and Isaac turned towards the front door.

“What’s wrong? Who’s coming?” Chris, attentive as always, asked. Melissa wiped her hands on a dishrag and Noah put his pen down, a watchful eye on the door. The front door jiggled and opened, and in came three new people.

“Hey guys! Look who me and Lydia bumped into on his return to Beacon Hills!”

Scott and Isaac pushed themselves off from the counter and tackled Derek into a hug, laughter filling the house. Lydia and Stiles sidestepped from the three, walking towards the dining table and depositing bags of food.

“The werewolves on a morning run are ravenous creatures. We took upon ourselves to bring more,” Lydia said warmly, already unpacking sandwiches and salads. Stiles took out takeouts of greasy burgers and fries, another bag containing bacon.

“Now that’s the stuff!”

“Lyds, give my dad the salad. No, no, hands off that greasy monstrosity, give it here. Here, Liam, have it, and save my dad from an early heart attack.”

“Derek, when did you get back?” Scott asked. The three of them made their way back to the dining area. Isaac had a soft smile on his face, and Derek was actually grinning.

“I don’t know. Too long on the road I guess. Wanted to settle down a bit.”

“Does Peter know?”

Derek snorted.

“You should check in with your crazy uncle, Derek. He’d want to know.”

“I’ll deal with him later. Right now, food.”

“Glad to see you still have your priorities straight,” Isaac chuckled.

Derek grabbed for a burger that Stiles was just reaching for, and then grabbed some fries that Stiles had also made a motion to grab.

“Derek!”

“ _Mietek._ ”

Noah laughed as Stiles sputtered at the nickname. “How’d you know Stiles name? And I see you even know the shortened nickname.”

“Turns out, Derek knows quite a few languages himself,” Lydia loftily said.

“Oh _my god_ , Lydia!”

Lydia swiftly kissed Stiles on the cheek, and Derek mussed his hair, and everyone laughed at Stiles’ indignant expression.

“I hate all of you.”

“Nah, pretty sure you don’t,” Isaac drawls from Scott’s side.

“Nope, no burgers for Isaac.”

“Hey!”

Melissa stopped and stared at the sight before her. Scott was wrestling a few burgers with Isaac, Liam and Theo sneaking a few when the older two weren’t looking. Beside them, Hayden was chatting with Mason and Corey over plates of pancakes and coffee. Malia testing out calling Stiles _Mietek_ , and Stiles was flailing his arms in affront. Behind him stood Derek, clad in a soft grey Henly, lips upturned in an almost imperceptible smile, standing beside a sitting Lydia, lips formed into a amused smirk. A moment later, she is joined on both sides by Chris and Noah, affectionate smiles on their faces.

“Kids,” Noah snorted.

“Kids indeed,” Chris took a sip of his coffee, and Melissa disappeared for a few seconds, returning with a camera.

 

* * *

 

 

Days later, after Scott, Stiles, Malia, and Lydia left for college, Melissa had a new picture printed and framed. She had three copies made, and gave Chris and Noah a copy each.

In the picture were Scott and Isaac on the left side, beside Liam, Theo, and Hayden. Corey and Mason were on the floor, arms around each other’s shoulders. On the other side were Lydia, Stiles, and Derek; Lydia’s arm around Stiles’ waist, Derek’s arm on Stiles’ shoulders, and Stiles’ arms around Lydia and Derek’s waist. Malia was on Lydia’s other side, an expression of faux innocence, as Stiles is caught in the middle of a laugh at something she said. In the center of it all, sitting at the table were Melissa, Noah, and Chris, wide proud smiles plastered on their faces.

The pictures are in each household’s living area, one of the first things anyone would see when they entered the room.

Melissa wasn’t perfect, but she tried her hardest. Noah’s life with law enforcement and the supernatural was no cakewalk, but he pushed on, one unsolved ‘animal attack’ at a time. And Chris figured that family was more than just a code and same last names on the register – it’s a choice.

It would be easy to dismiss it all – to turn a blind eye, to move out of town. They could lock these kids up or move to another state, and prevent them from involving themselves in all sorts of danger. But they don’t. Because if there was one thing they’ve learned over the years is this: they cannot protect their children forever.

They would always be faced with the world’s dangers – supernatural or not.

But for all the things they can’t stop and cannot hold, _this_ , at least, they can hold on to.

They love these kids too much. After all, they were family.

**Author's Note:**

> Trivia:  
> "Mietek" is the shortened name for Mieczyslaw, Stiles' real name.
> 
> Anyway, hit that kudos button, and tell me what you guys thought: I'd love to hear your opinions! :D


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